5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Paxton
There she is.
Working behind the bar, handing two drinks to her friends.
My heart beats like it wants to jump out of my chest and I subtly wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. Just like every other day I’ve been here, at Temptation, intending to talk to her.
Who would have thought this a year ago? The great Paxton Price, biggest known asshole in the industry, is nervous.
Even I would have laughed at them. Then I'd probably have cursed whoever started the rumor out and fired them.
Old Paxton was ruthless like that. And old Paxton paid the price for it.
And now, the new Paxton has no fucking idea where to start making things right. It’s like a math problem, you understand so little that you don’t even know what to ask in order to solve it.
That's why I'm here. Running. Fleeing from real life, straight to the last person I felt like myself with, so many goddamn years ago. The only person I could imagine has the grace to not kick my ass to the curb without even hearing me out.
Am I sure she won’t? Hell no. After all, she too fell victim to my arrogance.
That's why I'm standing here, in a corner of the club where she works, too fucking scared to even approach her. The cool air in here dries out my throat but I can't bring myself to get a drink. My hands start shaking at the thought of talking to her.
It wasn’t hard to find her. My heart dropped when I called her, only to notice I was blocked. I tried with a hotel phone, only to be told by a computer voice that her number is not in service anymore.
I assumed that wherever she’d be, at least her folks would still be in Windmeadow and I could ask them where she is. I thought back to how old Luke was, realizing he’d still be in high school. Yet when I arrived here and asked my way around, which is really damn hard when you try to hide your identity because everyone thinks you’re trying to mug them, I heard the worst news of my life. That’s when I found out her parents had died years ago. My stomach dropped. Poor Katie. Poor Luke.
I remember how close she was to her parents and how goddamn jealous I was of her. How excited they were when she told them she’d made it to the university of her choice, while mine disowned me when I told them I wanted to make music. Her parents’ smiles from our graduation day are burned in my mind. The way they stood there, her mother wiping tears from her eyes and Luke grinning with his missing milk teeth when she ran over to them after receiving her diploma.
And I remember how they welcomed me into their home, no questions asked, showed me paternal love when I couldn’t even remember anymore what that felt like. I remember how nice it felt to be with a family that placed no expectations on me, that didn’t tell me that I must do better than others in order to be liked, while never being good enough to hear a ‘well done, son’. Until I threw that away.
Because the only person I could think about, the only person I thought was important, was myself.
It happened gradually. The more famous we became, the more people let me pass with treating them like trash. It escalated, ever so subtly, until everybody kept a safe distance from me. Even the guys.
I have no idea what came over me but by the time I realized that I was, in fact, the problem, I lost my band. As much as it hurt to know how much pain I caused the guys in Hystoria, this one digs a lot deeper.
I lost so much more. Being an asshole was not great but at least I knew who I was. But now? I’m not Paxton Price, the rockstar, anymore. And I’m not Paxton Price, the guy from Windmeadows anymore, either. I lost myself, my self-confidence, my sense of worthiness. Old Pax got knocked down until all that was left was ruins.
It sounds like breaking down old Pax was easy, but it was the furthest thing from it. Once I had myself checked into a mental health facility, with the help of my therapists, I started chipping away at old Pax with basically a hammer and a chisel. It was painful and I was inches away from giving up so many times. The curtain of ignorance I displayed with narcissism was just that much more comfortable. It was my safe space, my protection in a world where strangers like to tear you down.
But I did it. And now, the new Pax gets to assemble the pieces and has to fix himself up without a blueprint or any directions. I can’t do that in the public eye. That’s why I’m here, tail tucked between my legs.
What will Katie even say? Will she tell me to fuck off and never contact her again? I'm not sure I could blame her. From what I gather, she has enough on her plate already.
I heard how the town gossips talked about her job here at the club. The way they phrased it made me think she’s a dancer in a shady nightclub, soliciting men in here and on the streets of Windmeadows. That’s how town gossip works. It takes a pebble and turns it into a diamond. No wonder she has no social media.
I watch her lean over the counter to speak to Phoebe and Harper, before showing them her middle finger.
It's almost been ten years since I last saw her live, eight since I heard her voice, but she's barely changed. She looks older, but I've learned in therapy that it's not something to mention out loud. How fucked is it that basic human decency and empathy are something I needed to learn again? Like a damn child.
Because that's how far gone I was. Others’ opinions didn't matter to me, neither did their feelings. The only person in my head was me, like the narcissist I am. It was like there was a wall in my head, blocking out everyone else. Until I realized it wasn’t only a wall but a goddamn stronghold. During therapy, I chipped away at it slowly, ever so slowly, until I had a hole big enough to look through and see the other side.
Once I saw the light, I chipped at the rest of it quicker, until it came down to reveal all the fucked up shit I had been doing.
My first therapist said my kind of narcissism could be based on my childhood and a developed feeling of inferiority. In this case, the fear of getting replaced within the band. He might be right. But so might the second one who speculated it is connected to becoming famous quickly and all the yea-sayers causing me to think I’m better than everyone else.
Not that it matters, because the outcome is the same: Loneliness, regret, guilt, eating at me from the inside, making my stomach drop and panic tear at my conscience at the thought of Hystoria.
I lay my hand on my chest and take a deep breath. It’s not happening today. I can’t talk to her. Not today. Clutching my shirt, I stumble until my back hits a wall. I need another day of hope. Another day to prepare for rejection.
My head shoots up as the music changes and the crowd erupts into cheers when, as the lights turn to the stage and the figure of a male dancer is revealed.
I sigh. How I miss that feeling. The thrill of playing sold-out shows, seeing signs with my name on them, and hearing people chanting for me, the way my heart beats into my throat before taking the first step onto the stage.
At the same time, I wouldn’t trust myself to go back into show business any time soon. I’m fragile. Fucking fragile. Like a sober alcoholic, on the verge of relapsing. I fear the wrong words will put me right back to where I was a year ago, turn me right back into a narcissistic asshole, only thinking about myself and destroying everyone around me in the process, that I’ll take them down with me when I’m convinced I’m doing what’s best for the band when the only thing I’m even capable of thinking about, is myself.
And it will happen. The media is fucking ruthless, as is social media. At the first sign of criticism, they could send me right back into a spiral.
Jack the Ripped’s show continues with the second song. He jumps off of the stage and I know it’s the part of his show where he finds a volunteer. But instead of one of the eager women up front, he makes his way through the crowd to Katie, who is now standing next to the bar, her work apron nowhere to be seen.
He offers her his hand and together they return on stage. I cock my head as my eyes follow them. Huh. That’s new.
She sits on the chair somebody brought on stage and I take the opportunity to weave my way through the crowd and get myself a drink. Her coworker slides it right over the counter, accepting the bill I hand her with a smile when I wave any change off, and I lean my back against the counter as I observe the show unfolding.
Katie doesn’t look very comfortable on stage, her face set in a tight smile. But Jack isn’t deterred and dances the way he always does and gradually, she begins to warm up to it. I’ve seen him on stage a few times now, but this is the first time he actually looks like he’s having fun up there.
I see them exchange words every now and them, wondering what they’re talking about. After taking another sip of my drink I set down the glass and cross my arms in front of my chest. I don’t know why, but an uncomfortable feeling is bubbling in my stomach watching the two of them.
I have no claim on her, but I don’t like it .
I tense when my gaze catches Jack’s. We stare at each other for only a fraction of a second, before I look back at Katie.
The rest of the show goes by, and I can’t take my eyes off her. She used to have that effect on me back then as well. Suddenly she’s gone from my sight, now laying on the stage, and it feels like my breath is stuck in my throat, until she re-emerges.
The last song ends, and the music returns to more generic beats. Jack helps Katie back up and then it happens. Our eyes meet and it’s like I’m pushed under ice-cold water. Sound muffles, replaced by the thundering sound of my heart beating in my ears. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Until someone bumps into me, and I come to my senses.
What the fuck am I doing?
Immediately, I down the rest of my drink and disappear into the crowd, quickly making my way for the exit as my heart beats in my throat and my breath quickens. Fuck. I’m not ready. I can’t face her yet.
I need to leave. Now.
Once outside, I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as the cold air fills my lungs, before I continue to put space between the club and me. I walk right by my motor bike and start the way back by foot. Who am I kidding, I’m going to be right back here tomorrow anyway.
It’s the only thing I didn’t leave behind when I had myself checked into the mental hospital. I had an assistant sell all of my assets, aside from what I took there with me. I wanted a clean slate, the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted to do once I got out again. I was determined not to fall back into my old life.
And it’s been fucking liberating .
I thought not running back to the guys in Hystoria would be a tough choice. Then I remembered what I made them go through and it turns out, it was the easy choice. The more I think back, the more I know they wouldn’t want to see me; really, I’m doing them a favor.
I know I have a tough road ahead of me. And I know the only one at fault for that, is me.
But I’m all in.
If it means groveling, fine. If it means leaving Hystoria, I’m starting to learn that would also be fine. But leaving everything the way it was, wouldn’t have been fine in the slightest. And that’s without even learning that narcissists tend to turn to substances and fall down the rabbit hole more often than not. Hearing that was another ice-cold wake-up call.
A sigh falls from my lips, and I bury my hands in my pockets, kicking a pebble out of the way. The last and hardest wakeup call was realizing I had no one.
No one.
I’ve never had the best relationship with my parents and when they continued to ask me for money, I knew it was time to let go of the thin strings of communication that remained.
Everyone in the industry had either worked with us and or knew someone who did and rightfully hated me for my attitude and the way I treated people or knew my reputation and hated me for that. The only friends I had were Hystoria. After I doxed Eve, they were more than justified in being angry with me. Looking back, I think they weren’t angry enough.
Maybe they would have forgiven me someday for lying to them about Eve letting us use her song, when in fact, she had no idea. That hope quickly went down the drain when I learned what happened to her in the aftermath and all I could see was red. The guys wouldn’t forgive me for being the reason she became homeless and losing her family.
So, I wanted to make her disappear. I opened old wounds, hit her right where it hurt and leaked her address, along with pictures of Cole groveling on her doorstep to the press.
It’s one of the worst things you can do to anyone in the industry, and I went right ahead and did it, without regard for any pain I’d cause, because I wanted her to go away. I knew her reappearance would change Hystoria fundamentally and I wanted to stop it, because I didn’t want change.
Now I want it. I need it. And I need Katie to help me with her no-bullshit attitude I appreciated so much when we were teens. I need her to call me out, tell me when I’m being a dick.
Then maybe, just maybe, I stand a chance against myself.